So yesterday I'm freezing in a TTC bus stop shelter. I'm in a nice neighbourhood so the floor of the shelter is soaked with a higher grade of urine than I'm used to smelling. The fine glassware that passes wind right through it was defaced with posters about quickie divorces, driving lessons, overnight degrees in computer-science and some boo-hoo claptrap about contributing to charities for kids without christmas presents.
The new shelters already have enough going for them without these additions. After all, the oversized map with the tiny print and no lighting is only enhanced by the freakishly oversized poster of scary man-woman Elvira Kurt. Also in tiny print along the top rim there are invitations to report vandals in exchange for a 500 dollar reward and to feel free to clean the shelter of any hanbills or posters.
Well you dont have to ask me twice. Kids without presents will hardly notice the difference, off it goes. Learn to drive? Would I be in a bus shelter if I cared about cars? rip! Quickie divorce? What's the point if I can't make it long and painful for both of us? 9 years and still processing! Shred and crumple! Now standing with a giant ball of paper and tape, with the bus approaching do I litter, or risk missing the bus to carry it to the triple tiered trash sorting monolith standing two blocks away from the stop for my convenience?
Neither choice is acceptable, so I tighten the paper wad, hold it out in front of me and drop it. Before it hits the ground, a mighty kick carries it past the crowd. It deflects off the side sport-mirror of a passing Lexus, bounces off the surface of a DOSE newsbox and circles the rim of the recycle section of the trash monument not once, not twice, but three times and gently drops in as my bus speeds off with me holding onto the handrail for dear life, grateful that I have a free hand considering my recent close call.
Now if that isn't awesome, what is?